Borrowing and Belonging
by rhinosgirl
Summary: Rafe Darcy discovers a piece of paper which contains a secret, that, when revealed, sets off a wave of chaos and crime across various English counties and socially elite families.
1. Chapter 1

It is true contentment to find even one ounce of peace in the bleakness of a day such as this; and Elizabeth Bennet Darcy is truly serene. It is early December, the temperature is falling, there are more wet days than dry ones, the chandler is ill, and her husband is absent. But, surrounded by her five energetic children, she realised anew exactly how good life had been to her since her marriage. On this rare winter day, cold but otherwise dry, protected from the elements by the pergola under which she was sitting, she looked clockwise around the perfectly manicured garden and smiled in contentment.

On her left in one corner, her two sons, fifteen-year-old Jasper and thirteen-year-old Raphaelle, were hard at work with their tutor. At least, Elizabeth was sure they were supposed to be. But from the robust discussion, raucous laughter, and playful shoving she was witnessing, she wasn't sure that a lot of learning was actually being accomplished. And not all of the distraction was coming from the pupils, either. In fact most of it was the fault of the tutor. A non-traditional, scholar-centred, fun-loving man, he had decided to bring an interactive science experiment into the garden with his class of two.

"Today's lesson is on the subject of gravity," he announced. "We are going to investigate the question 'Which Properties of an Object Can Affect Gravity?' Master Perry, take this ball and stand over there. Now, throw it in a straight line as far as possible."

When the ball landed barely eight feet in front of Perry, Rafe snickered. "Is that as far as you can toss it? Seriously, Perry, you weakling, Debby could throw further than that!" Rafe jibed his older brother.

Perry wheeled and glared at his cheeky sibling. "All right, your turn!"

When the tutor nodded, Rafe stood up to take the ball off Perry, and in the process 'accidentally' trod on his brother's toe. "Sorry about that," he grinned as he took the ball in hand, ignoring his brother's dirty look. A few seconds later he was whooping in delight as his throw outstripped that of his brother by the length of his hand.

"Good one, Master Rafe," called the tutor, beckoning the boys to him. "Now, come back and we will repeat the process with this heavier ball, and then compare the results."

In the other corner, to Elizabeth's right, and as far away from the boys as they could accomplish without leaving the property, ten-year-old Georgiana, and her sister, five-year-old Bianca, sat all prim and proper, quietly listening to their governess read to them – until they heard their brothers delight. Then they started to respectfully protest their lessons. "Miss, can we please see what Perry and Rafe are doing?" young Bee requested.

"Yes, Miss!" Anna was more enthusiastic in her entreaty. "I won't let Bee get hurt, I promise. We'll be careful, won't we, Bee?" Her younger sister bobbed her head in assent immediately and eagerly.

The governess looked over to where the science 'lesson' was taking place, and then glanced toward the mistress of the house. Receiving an imperceptible nod of permission, she closed the book. "Alright, girls, let's go see what your brother are learning about today. Stay with me until I'm sure it is safe."

"Yes, Miss," the girls echoed, quickly gathering up their schoolbooks, writing utensils, and pulling their winter wraps close. The governess packed away the school items in her bag and led her students over to where the boy's tutor was sitting.

"Miss Anna and Miss Bee are interested in their brother's lesson today. Are we able to observe?"

"You can do more than that," the tutor said, standing up from his perch to greet the pretty young woman standing in front of him, and her two young charges. "How are you today, Miss Anna, Miss Bee?"

"We're very well, thank you," Anna answered for both her and her sister.

"Georgiana, I've warned you before not to answer for Miss Bee when she is asked a question," the governess reprimanded, taking care to keep her tone mild so as not to scare the younger child. "Bianca, the tutor asked you a question. Please be polite and answer him."

"I'm well, thank you," whispered the five-year-old almost imperceptibly.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Miss Bee and Miss Anna," he answered with a smile. "Perry! Rafe!" he called his two charges over to him. "Your sisters have expressed an interest in our science lesson. How would you like to take the balls, the paper aeroplanes, the hoops, and the other objects and use them to explain what we have learnt today and demonstrate to our guests how we reached our conclusions?"

"Yes, Sir!" They boys quickly and gladly obeyed the suggestion. For the next half hour the four children played happily together while the tutor and the governess watched over them. Meanwhile, their mother had been joined by Cook and Nanny, and they were organising provisions for the family's planned trip over the Christmas holidays to visit Elizabeth's sister Jane and her family.

Elizabeth shifted slightly and readjusted the only one of her children that was quiet, three-year-old Deborah, the youngest of the family, who was asleep in her mother's lap.

"Would you like me to take Miss Debby, Mistress Darcy?" The Nanny took advantage of a pause in the conversation to ensure her employer's wife was comfortable.

"Yes, thank you, Nanny. I'd like to go over and see what my other children are learning today." Debby was deftly transferred from one woman to the other. Once they were sure she was still asleep, Elizabeth moved through the garden to where her other children were playing, and spent an enjoyable afternoon being educated in the latest scientific theories.

Summarily dismissed, the housekeeper watched acrimoniously as her employer's wife walked away. She silently snarled in disgust. How she hated the woman! To everyone who knew her Elizabeth Bennet seemed to be a gentlewoman, but the housekeeper knew better. I blame her for my situation, that, in my mid-thirties, I am still unbetrothed and childless, she bristled. Elizabeth Bennet is nothing but a lying, scheming, imposter, and she is nowhere near good enough for my benevolent Master.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This story is set in 1830, seventeen years after Darcy and Elizabeth married. The housekeeper was promoted into the position upon Mrs. Reynolds' death, shortly after the Darcys married.**

Today, Fitzwilliam Darcy was also content. Recently returned from a lengthy business trip, he was home in time to join his beautiful wife and their five energetic children on their journey to join Elizabeth's sister Jane and her family at their home Hertfordshire home, Netherfield

Attempting to decipher everything from his baby's childish babble to his two sons chattering nineteen to the dozen about their upcoming outing with him, was almost impossible to the untrained ear. Thankfully, seventeen years of marriage and fifteen years of fatherhood had trained Darcy's ears perfectly. The persistent clinking of cutlery on crockery, the scraping of chair legs on the polished floor, the clunking of dish against table, none of these prevented him from hearing the family planning their day's activities.

"We guna see Mah-go?" Debby lisped excitedly, her chubby arms pushing away a spoonful of the porridge Anna was attempting to feed her for breakfast.

"Yes, Baby, it is Saturday. We're going to see Margo," her mother reassured her.

"But you have to eat all your porridge first, Debby," Anna admonished her, successfully putting the aforementioned spoon in her sister's mouth without spilling it.

Darcy smothered a smile as his youngest grimaced. "That's right," he affirmed. "When you've finished eating your breakfast, Mama and you and your sisters may go and get ready to visit with Margo and her Mama."

At the other end of the table, the two boys were discussing their hope to bring back enough meat for that evening's meal.

"I am going to bring back three pheasants, five ducks, and two pigeons," Rafe proclaimed.

"Pshaw!" Jasper ridiculed. "Even Papa isn't that good and he has had a lot more practice than you have. No offence, Papa."

"None taken," Darcy assured him. "But unfortunately we will only be bringing home ducks today," he informed Rafe.

Rafe shrugged. He didn't really care as long as brought home something he had shot himself. "You will help me, Perry, please?" Rafe pleaded.

"Of course I will," Jasper placated his younger brother. "I think that between the three of us we will definitely fulfil your quota." Slapping the palms of their hands together above their hands with a resounding clap, the brothers established their pact.

"Mama?" questioned Anna. "Can I go with Papa and Perry? I don't want to play with Margo and Debby today."

"No! Mah-go nice! You play!" Debby demonstrated her displeasure further by upending her porridge onto the wooden dining table in a sloppy grey puddle. THUD CRASH! The family immediately froze in a dismayed silence as Debby's pretty floral plate hit the floor and broke into three large pieces, spreading rapidly cooling and drying porridge on the wooden floor as well as the wooden table top and legs.

Fifteen years of fathering had taught Fitzwilliam Darcy an infinite amount of patience and preparedness to cope with whatever his offspring brought to each second of each minute of each hour of each day of his life as a father; so is voice didn't rise a syllable as he remonstrated his child.

"That's very naughty, Deborah. You've made a lot more work for Cook and Nanny to do." Right on cue, the two servants quietly entered the dining room, summonsed by the uproar. Darcy subtly held up his hand, and the two women silently retreated to stand by the door. "Debby, say sorry to Anna for shouting at her."

"I sowwy, Anna," Debby burbled, tears starting to form in her sapphire blue eyes. "Still fwends?"

Anna patted her youngest sister on the head. "Of course we are still friends, Debby. I forgive you," she smiled.

"Now apologise to Mama for making a mess on her nice table," Darcy directed his daughter.

Debby's eyes swam with fresh tears. "Sowwy, Mama, I not do it again."

"No, you will not do it again," Elizabeth agreed, unconsciously correcting the child's grammar as she arose, deftly avoiding the broken shards of plate on the floor, and hardened globs of porridge that seemed to be scattered everywhere, and somehow managing to remain clean as she comforted the crying infant. "Hush now, Mama loves you." She bent down to kiss the young girl's forehead and wipe away her tears. "Here are Cook and Nanny to clean up the plate you broke and the porridge you spilled. Tell them you're sorry for making them do extra work, please."

"Sowwy, Cook and Nanny," Debbie whispered, raising her arms to her beloved Nanny. After assurances that the apologies from her sweet child had been accepted, she was carried away to be bathed and reclothed before her playmate arrived, and Elizabeth was finally able to answer her daughter's question.

"No, Anna. You cannot go with Papa and your brothers today. They are going to the lake to get the servants and their families their Christmas dinners," she explained. "It's too dangerous for someone as young as you are. You need to wait until you are thirteen, the same age as Rafe. Then you can go."

"Yes, Mama," Anna acquiesced, and everyone quickly finished their meal, anxious to start their day's activities.

Throughout all the mayhem and drama, the house keeper watched Bianca stay silent and still, patiently waiting to be excused by her father. How timid the child is, she mused, her bitterness rising to fill her throat.

**A/N: Thanks for all the positive and encouraging reviews. The support is much appreciated –hugs-**


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy, Perry, and Rafe approached the large tree-lined lake, which they could see was slowly freezing over.

"I am glad I have had it freshly stocked," Darcy remarked. "Normally, there would be no ducks here at this time of year. But these ones were especially raised by the servants to be ready for hunting today."

Rafe stopped. "So they were raised on earth, to be let out to fly just so we could shoot them?" he yelped.

Darcy and Perry kept walking. "Yes!" they said together, unaware that Rafe .was no longer with them.

"Why?" Rafe was slightly perturbed at this revelation.

Perry turned around when he heard his brother's voice had faded into the distance. "Because the servants need meat for the Christmas dinners, their families need feathers to make or mend pillows and blankets before the weather gets too cold, and you and I need shooting practice," Perry slowly explained. He tried not to treat his brother like an imbecile, truly he did, but sometimes it was so hard!

Rafe nodded, satisfied with the logic of his brother's explanation. "Then let's do it!" he exclaimed excitedly, running to catch up with the others.

Darcy looked over his shoulder worriedly, but soon realised he had nothing to fear. The dogs that the servants had brought down with them were far too well trained to make any noise that would scare away the birds, no matter what the provocation. They both sat quietly with their tongues hanging out, waiting for their master to signal to them to go to work. Until then they would be statues.

"Stay here," Darcy told his younger son, when they neared the water.

Rafe watched intently from a prudent distance as Perry loaded the guns that the two of them were going to use. He could hardly wait until Papa allowed him to do that as well as shooting the gun. It seemed rather incongruous to him that it was safer to shoot the gun than load it, but he could see why. His older brother currently had the gun barrel pointed directly at his head as he loaded the shot in to the muzzle. Maybe one day I can invent a gun that doesn't need to be loaded from the muzzle, Rafe thought. I see no reason why it cannot be modified to be loaded from the other end, he mused. In his mind he was already drawing plans for his new invention. Then suddenly he felt a nudge at his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Darcy asked. "Or do you want to watch for a while?"

"I'm ready!" Rafe cheered enthusiastically.

"Are you sure?" Darcy asked again. "You've got to pay close attention to what I say and what you are doing. Any break in concentration can injure one or more of us extremely seriously. So I need to know you are absolutely ready."

"I am!" Rafe reaffirmed.

"Come this way, then." The duo walked over to Perry. "Are you ready?" he repeated the question this time to his older son.

"Yessir," Perry carefully handed his father one gun and kept the other for himself.

Darcy stood behind Rafe, and tucked the gun into the boy's shoulder. He placed Rafe's hands in the appropriate positions. All the time he was softly talking to the boy, telling him what he was doing and why. Then he fell silent and pulled the trigger when he saw a duck flying overhead. It fell to earth, and the dogs were sent to retrieve it.

"Look at that beauty! Your first ever duck! Great job!" Darcy praised, patting his younger son on the shoulder.

Rafe beamed. It was a great accomplishment, and he couldn't wait until he could do it entirely by himself, like Perry was. In the time he and his father had shot one duck Perry had shot three, he thought jealously. Oh, well, the more I practice, the better I'll get.

Just then Perry appeared. "Papa, what is this?" he questioned, holding out his latest kill. "It looks too big to be a duck."

Darcy took the bird and inspected it. Rafe stared at the large bird his brother had shot, his mouth agape. Seeing his awe, Perry laughed. "I know. I am simply too brilliant for words. But you must close your mouth before a frog jumps into it."  
>Rafe furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "I think you mean "before a fly flies into it."<p>

Perry smirked. "Your mouth is far too big to simply attract flies."

Rafe returned his brother's smirk. "And your knowledge of our wildlife is sadly lacking, my dear brother. Frogs hibernate over winter. So I am perfectly safe."

"Oh really?" Perry tackled his brother around the waist, and they both fell onto the wet grass, wrestling to be the first to land the other on his back.

Later that afternoon, Perry picked up the empty lunch-basket. A rapidly darkening sky had curtailed their outing prematurely. Still, it had been a successful one. Rafe had shot his first bird ever, and also his first bird solo.

"Come, boys," Darcy beckoned. "These guns won't clean themselves, and we have to return the lunch-basket to the kitchen. Then we can go and see what Mama has been doing."

"Papa, since these birds are going to the servants for their Christmas dinners, may I go and help the servant who is going to prepare them?" Before his father could respond, Rafe proceeded with his argument for his request. "I know it is highly irregular, helping our servants with such a menial chore – "

"There is no such thing as a 'menial chore," Papa interrupted him, handing him his brace of birds and motioning Perry to do the same. "Off with you!" he grinned.

"You know that's exactly what he wanted you to say," Perry laughed. "He has you all figured out, Papa."

"Oh, and you haven't?" Darcy quirked his eyebrow, and Perry blushed just a little, which made Darcy grin all the more. He chuckled as he watched Rafe racing off in the distance, barely managing to keep his footing on the wet grass in his eagerness to learn how to gut birds. God help poor George!

"Excuse me," Rafe addressed the old manservant, George Black, who looked up from his gardening with pleasure.

"Good afternoon, Master Rafe!" he beamed. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

Rafe sceptically eyed the black clouds that had cut short his outing with his father and brother. Only a servant would call a day that's threatening to rain 'fine'! he thought.

"Papa has given me permission to bring these birds to you, and to help you prepare them for giving to the servants. Where would you like me to put them?" Rafe indicated the brace of dead birds balanced across his shoulders.

"Bring them this way," directed the servant. He led the young man to the rear of the house, to an area especially laid out for the messy jobs often undertaken by the kitchen servants. "Put them there and put this apron on."

Rafe laid the birds down, donned the proffered garment, and watched carefully as the older man deftly prepared the first bird. Then, under his tutor's careful guidance, he beheaded, plucked, and gutted a duck. "It certainly doesn't look as nice as yours," he admitted sadly, looking at the bedraggled carcass that still had bits of feathers attached and entrails hanging on.

"Is this the first time you've ever done it?" he asked Rafe.

"Yes," Rafe confirmed.

"In that case, it looks pretty good," George complimented him sincerely.

"Thank you," Rafe said, with a conceited grin.

The two worked companionably side-by-side until all the dressed birds were ready, and then they delivered them to the kitchen.

"These are the birds to be shared out between the staff for their Christmas dinners," the old servant told his wife, the cook, Penny Black.

Penny looked askance at the pile of birds littering her formerly clean and orderly bench. It was real gentlemanly of the Darcy to do this for us each year, she thought. She just wished that they would do the work as well, instead of dumping it all on them. "I suppose you have to do the feathers, too," she huffed.

"Master Rafe helped me gather them all in readiness for the drying-shed," her husband assented. "We'd better get to it." He kissed his wife on the cheek.

"Now, now," she tutted. "Not in front of the young Master."

Rafe grinned then surprised Penny by also giving her a kiss.

"Now, now," her husband tutted, jokingly. "Not my wife, young Master."

Rafe's grin widened as they left the house.

The duo gathered the buckets and transported them to a nearby hut. Although only roughly built, its back wall sheltered the contents from the weather. There they carefully starting laying the feathers out on low ledges. Once dried, they would be given to the servants so their families could make pillows and mattresses.

"What is this?" Rafe wondered, temporarily distracted from his task. He had spotted the corner of a trunk poking out from a pile of detritus in the corner of the shed. He heaved a few items to the side, and the more of the trunk he uncovered, the faster his excitement grew. "This is beautiful!" he breathed. "Do you know who this belongs to?" he asked his companion.

The old man shook his head. "It has been out in the shed for more years than I remember. It looks too nice to belong to one of the servants, though. My guess is that it belongs to one of your relatives, possibly an ancestor. Your Papa should be able to tell you."

"I'll ask him," Rafe agreed.

"Why do you want an old, dusty, trunk for, anyways?" the man enquired. "Your Papa has more than enough money than would be needed to buy you a new one."

"That's true," Rafe agreed. "But I like rebuilding and restoring things. I believe you to be right. This trunk looks to be a Morel, which would date it to about 1795. See the monograms?"

The old man censured calmly, "I'll come and look when I finished my work, Master Rafe."

Rafe reluctantly stopped his exploration of the pile. "I am sorry," he apologised and returned to helping lay the soft, scratchy feathers around the room.

After they had finished, the servant left and Rafe returned to the task of uncovering the antique that had piqued his interest. After about half an hour of moving other objects, he was finally able to see the trunk in its entirety.

"Beautiful!" he repeated.

He knelt in front of it and examined the lock. "I may need a key for this," he mused. He jiggled the lid, and almost fell sideways when it opened without resistance. He scrutinised the inside.

"Empty!" he groaned, disappointedly. Then something caught his eye. He had almost missed it because it was almost the same colour as the material it was lying on.

"I wonder what this is." Rafe carefully picked up the discoloured envelope that was stuck in the crack on the base of the trunk and placed it in his pocket.

Rafe knew there wasn't much time until dinner. Should he open the envelope that felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket? Or should he seek out his father and ask him about the owner of the chest before opening the envelope? If it was a letter that was written by the owner of the trunk, knowing a little about them may strengthen my case for reading it before showing it to anybody else, he surmised to himself. He turned to go find his Papa before they were called in to dress for the evening meal, but stopped himself. How am I supposed to know who to ask about if I don't know who wrote it? He argued against himself.

Having therefore decided on the latter course of action, Rafe quickly made his way to his own secret hideaway, known to nobody but himself. Once he was safely hidden from view within a natural cave made of a hollowed tree stump encased in a curved hedge, he sat down and carefully examined the envelope. It was skilfully cut and folded in such a way that no glue was needed. Beautifully even scalloped edging decorated the edge of the flap which was closed with a perfectly round wax seal. Rafe carefully broke the seal with a letter opener he had 'borrowed' from Papa's study. No need to damage it any more than absolutely necessary, especially if it turns out to be of historical importance, he thought. He paused, gazing into the dim sunlight peeking through the closely woven top of his enclosure. Taking a deep breath, he carefully unfolded the fragile paper and started perusing the document. But perusal quickly turned to scrutiny as he began to read every word. Then he read them again. And again.

As he lay in bed that night, Rafe realised that both he and the servant were correct. The letter was written by a relative of his, and it was potentially of historical importance – in fact, it had the capability of altering his family's future for generations to come. He finally allowed himself to mull over what he had read and imagine the consequences of setting the secret free.

_. . . the child I bore to them that day, only three days ago. . . I will never . . . hear you call me 'Mama' . . . darling boy . . . heartache and misery . . . my husband . . . wouldn't make a suitable father . . . I would be taking you home with me . . . I have specially chosen them to raise you . . . _

Rafe woke for the sixth time that night shortly before dawn. But this time he was awake for good. In the early morning candle light, Rafe stood at the foot of his bed staring at the letter in his hand. The young boy had to choose where he was going to put the evidence and he knew he didn't have much time to make a decision. It was the day they were leaving for their holiday and all the trunks were packed, with the servants already rounding them up to load onto the wagon. Should he leave it at home and forget about it until after the family holiday? Or should he take it with him for safekeeping? Or should he toss it into the fire that was still warming his bedroom? **At the last moment, Rafe made a decision. Before the footman came to take his cases to the coach, he quickly unlocked the trunk that contained his personal belongings and slid the letter down the side by his freshly laundered clothes. He let out the breath he was holding. Nobody would find it there.**

"What are you doing?" Rafe swung his head around at the curious inquiry. His nervousness did not lessen any when he saw it was Phoebe Black, the cook's daughter. It just transferred from the letter to the girl.

"Hello Phoebe," he greeted nonchalantly. "I am just making sure I have everything in my trunk that I will need for my holiday."

"You might need these, too." Phoebe offered over the load of his clothes she was carrying.

"Thank you," Rafe said gratefully, taking half of the pile and sorting through it. Some clothes he carefully packed into the trunk, others he left in his chest of drawers.

"My pleasure," she said, and then blushed.

Rafe felt an unfamiliar warmth in his belly, and bent to fiddle with his shoe so the girl couldn't see his embarrassment.

"Is there something wrong with your shoe?" Phoebe queried. "Would you like me to clean them for you?"

Rafe shook his head to clear his head of that mental picture. "My shoe is fine. You've done a good job. Now I shall have everything I need until I return." He stood up and started meticulously sorting through the remainder of the clothing, avoiding any eye contact, afraid she might see the truth hidden deep behind them, a truth that he himself was only now beginning to allow to enter his conscious mind.

"I shall miss being able to talk with you while you are away," Phoebe admitted quietly, watching regretfully as Rafe locked up the trunk for the final time.

"And I you," Rafe agreed, and watched longingly as the girl disappeared down the hallway before supervising the removal of his luggage.

While his wife and children settled themselves in the comfortable transport carriage, and the footman checked the loaded wagon one last time, Darcy took the opportunity to speak with his steward one last time. "Before we leave, these are the addresses where we can be reached if there is an emergency." He handed over a note which contained their itinerary and the addresses of the Collinses in Northamptonshire and the Bingleys in Hertfordshire. He then joined his family and gave the driver the signal to lead the convoy away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: All publicly recognisable characters and settings belong to Someone In America. Anything verifiable belongs to Whoever, Whatever, or Wherever verifies them. Everything else belongs to me.**

The first few hours of the journey were uneventful. The family had eaten breakfast directly before leaving so, one by one, the four younger children were soon asleep again.

Perry held Anna securely to his side while he and his parents conversed amiably as the miles slipped past. Across from him, as Bee started to slip off the seat toward the floor, Darcy lifted her onto his lap while replying to his wife. Elizabeth cuddled Debby to her breast whilst alternately talking to her men and watching the scenery. Soft rain and gently rolling hills added their own serenity to the peaceful ambience. And then, sandwiched between Anna and the hard wall of the coach, Rafe woke up.

"Ow!" Anna squealed as her sleep was abruptly disrupted by a boot kicking her in the back. She looked over her shoulder and stared at Rafe. "That hurt!"

Rafe straightened up and stretched, and as he did his knuckles rapped loudly on the glass window. The driver took this as a signal to stop, and his sudden shout of "Whoa!" coupled with the lurching halt roused Debby as she was jostled in her mother's arms. Darcy shot his younger son an annoyed look before he leant forward, opened the door, and told the driver to move on. Of course, this caused Bee to stir.

"I'm hungry," Rafe whined. "And my back hurts!"

"Not as much as mine," Anna griped, rubbing the spot where Rafe's boot had connected.

"I didn't kick you that hard," her brother sneered. "Stop being such a baby."

"Rafe, stop teasing your sister," their mother censured mildly. Anticipating her children's needs and hoping to put a stop to further bickering, she handed each a child a biscuit.

"What about me?" Darcy pouted playfully.

"And another for my oldest child of all," Elizabeth teased, handing her husband one of the treats.

Rafe took a big bite. "Yuck, these have got raisins in them!" He spat a mouthful of chewed mush into his hand. He pushed through his siblings to the door, pulled it open with one hand and threw the contents of the other outside, where the wind and rain caught it and glued it to the window beside Perry. Rafe sat back with a self-satisfied smirk as Perry screwed up his nose and then twisted in his seat so he could look out the window on the other side of the coach and ignore the glob that would otherwise be squarely in his sights.

"Rafe," Darcy warned his son.

"What?" the boy protested insolently. "She knows I hate raisins. She should've warned me they were in there, and offered me something else!"

"Watch your tone!" his father continued the warning sharply.

Rafe could feel his father's eyes on him even after he turned his back to the man. His hunched posture and crossed arms belied his outward compliance. He did not want to do anything that would get him into further trouble, but he didn't have to pretend to like it.

Shortly after noon, the coach rolled to a stop outside an inn and all the family members disembarked. While Elizabeth took the others inside to freshen up and order their meal, Darcy supervised Rafe washing the window he had soiled. Then they joined their family in eating and getting warm and clean before continuing their journey.

But even a full stomach, dry clothes, and a warm body could not confine Rafe's temper for long. Exhausted, sore, and hiding a secret no child should ever have hidden from them, he felt like a volcano on the verge of exploding. It's not even my fault, he grumbled to himself as he glared at his father after yet another unreasonable demand led to Rafe quite reasonably refusing to obey.

"Don't look at me like that," Darcy scolded. "All I asked was that you hold Debby for a while to give Mama a break. Your response was totally uncalled for!"

"Who cares?" Darcy was astounded to hear. "She didn't want to come to me." He jerked his thumb in Perry's direction. "She wanted to go to him, she's with him, Mama can rest, so everyone's happy. Except you, of course!"

Anna and Bee let out gasps of shock upon hearing their brother's brazen words. But nobody was shocked at what happened next.

"Stop the coach!" Hearing his father's irate voice calling out to the driver, and then seeing him banging on the roof of the horse-drawn vehicle, Rafe knew he had gone too far. He hung his head, wishing he could disappear through the carriage floor.

The driver quickly pulled over, and jumped down to the ground, almost stumbling over on the rain-dampened dirt.

Darcy threw open the carriage door, and stepped out, pulling his errant son with him. "Master Rafe will be riding outside with you until I decide otherwise, and can count himself lucky that he isn't riding on the back of the luggage cart!" he ground out. "Hopefully, the rain will wash the disrespect out of him. We can only live in hope!" He left Rafe and the driver standing in the drizzle and climbed back into the warm, dry, comfortable carriage.

Wordlessly, Rafe clambered up beside the driver. It took him multiple tries because of the muddy earth and slippery seat edges. He sat on the wet, hard, wooden seat and wiped the limp curls out of his eyes.

"You're new, aren't you?" he questioned the young man snappishly.

"Yeah, so? I'd rather be new than have a girl's name," came the snarky reply.

"Actually, Raphaelle Peale is an American painter. Papa likes _him _very much. He even had Mr. Peale do a couple of paintings especially for him!" Rafe explained haughtily. "Now, let me drive!" he commanded, holding out his hands for the reins.

"Not likely!" The driver chuckled, and cracked his whip to get the horses moving.

Rafe pulled his jacket close and folded his arms, resigning himself to his fate.

Peace reigned for the rest of the journey, much to everyone's relief.

A few miles from their destination, the Master stopped his family's carriage once again. He made certain to stand out of the way of the horse's back leg as he spoke to both the driver and his bedraggled child.

"How has my son been behaving?" he enquired. Upon receiving a favourable report, he addressed Rafe.

"Are you going to act in a civil manner toward your brother and sisters if I allow back in the coach with the family?" he asked sternly.

"Yes, Papa," Rafe agreed.

"And you will conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner when we arrive at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Collins?" he demanded.

"Yes, Papa," the shivering child repeated.

"Very well, then." Darcy held out his hand, and Rafe eagerly jumped down. He was immediately pulled into his father's side and shielded from the weather by his father's jacket.

"Thank you, Driver," the boy said. "I am sorry for the inconvenience I caused you." His father echoed his sentiments.

"Not a problem!" the driver assured them.

Hand-in-hand, the Darcy duo turned in unison to seek the relative warmth of their vehicle, and the rest of the journey passed without incident.

There was a joyous reunion when the family arrived at their destination, as Elizabeth was greeted by her best friend Charlotte and her younger sister Mary, who had last seen the family when Bianca was only seven months old. Introductions were made before Mr. Collins took charge.

"Mary, please take the children upstairs and get them ready for dinner," he ordered. "Mrs. Bennet may also wish to freshen up before dinner. Dinner will be served for the children in the Lesser Dining Room in thirty minutes." Turning back to his guests, he motioned them through to the formal dining room. "We will eat in here as soon as Mrs. Bennet is ready."

"Please call me Elizabeth," Elizabeth smiled thinly. "Come, children," she collected her children and followed Mary upstairs

"Mama, why won't that man let us have dinner with you?" Bee asked sadly. "Doesn't he like us?"

William Collins coloured slightly. What a rude child, he thought. I'm glad they are not staying long!

Darcy glanced around the formal dining room, and noted thankfully that the table was not yet set. "Do not trouble your servants any further," he told his host. "I am sure the Lesser Dining Room will be quite sufficient for this evening."

Mr. Collins stared at him, appalled. "We do not entertain guests in the Lesser Dining Room!" he protested. "And definitely not with children present!"

"Then you have missed out on a great experience. My wife and I regularly eat with our children." Darcy could not keep the note of amusement out of his voice.

"How very Continental of you," his companion observed dryly.

"And I am proud of it," Darcy nodded. "We are a family. Why should we not eat as a family just because of a societal custom? Elizabeth and I have decided that our children are more important to us than tradition. Knowing they are happy means more to me than what other people think."

"I will tell Cook there will be four more for dinner in the Lesser Dining Room," Charlotte excused herself.

As Darcy predicted, the children were extremely well-behaved during dinner, and then Elizabeth and Mary settled them all into their beds. All except Debby, who never slept well in strange places, so instead dozed in her mother's lap, as Elizabeth sat in the Collinses' drawing room.

All the while, Mary Bennet hid her overwhelming jealousy behind a constant smile, although, if anybody had been paying close attention to her, they would have seen her jaw periodically tighten as she fought to maintain control of her emotions. It wasn't that she resented Elizabeth or anything like that – goodness knows she loved her eldest sister dearly, but this was too much!

Even after more than seventeen years, Elizabeth was still ridiculously besotted with her husband. They probably still shared a bedroom, even. Even without the more than £ 10,000 a year income, the resplendent manor, and the _five_, yes, _five_, delightful children, who were infuriatingly well-behaved, Elizabeth would still be deliriously happy.

And here she was, still a Bennet, doomed to eternal spinsterhood, condemned to live out the rest of her days as the governess for the three children of William Collins, the man who would one day inherit her childhood home, and then she would be forced to live there, in her own house, and watch Charlotte Lucas overturn and disperse everything that her family had ever held dear.

"She is so sweet!" Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, cooed. She was overjoyed to see her best friend seated beside her after such a long absence, and clearly so blissful in her life. She leaned over and tenderly stroked the little one's cheek.

"Would you like me to take her?" Mary offered, standing up from her chair beside the trio. "You and Mrs. Collins can continue visiting while I make sure the children are sleeping well tonight."

"Why, thank you, Mary." Elizabeth passed Debby to her younger sister and settled in for an evening of socialising. As she turned toward her hostess, she overheard a snippet of the conversation her husband was having with William Collins at the other end of the room.

"I was extremely sorry to hear of the death of your patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourghe," Darcy remarked politely.

"Most definitely, yes," Mr. Collins nodded his head enthusiastically. "It was very sad, very sad indeed. We do miss her, very much."

"But this Northamptonshire parish is a comfortable living?" his visitor enquired.

"It is a much smaller congregation, and a lot less genteel that we are used to. But a patroness such as Lady Catherine de Bourghe is very hard to find. We were very blessed to have her support. We could not hope to be so fortunate twice in our lifetime. Not at all, no, not at all," he reiterated.

As Mary walked away, the baby stirred upon hearing her father's voice. She was still not fully asleep as they ascended the stairs, and she wasn't the only one who was having a struggle sleeping in strange places that night.

"Rafe, can you blow out the candle?" Perry requested. There was no answer. "Rafe!" he called more sharply. There was still no answer. His brother lay motionless on his bed, staring at the wall.

Perry got up and went to sit on his brother's bed. "Rafe? Are you ill? Do you want me to get Mama? Did you get a chill riding in front of the carriage today? Do you have a fever?" He reached out to touch his brother's forehead, but pulled it back sharply when Rafe slapped his hand. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

"Because I don't want you touching me," explained Rafe.

"Why not?" pressed Perry. "Were you hurt today? Are you trying to hide an injury from Papa?"

"No!" hissed Rafe, still staring at the wall. "I am perfectly fine, so stop talking, blow out the candle, get into bed, and leave me alone!" This last command was hissed at a louder volume and in a more forceful tone than the rest.

Perry did none of what he was told. He moved to sit heavily on the edge of his own bed and started talking. "What is wrong with you today? You've been in a foul mood since even before we left home. I know we left extremely early this morning, but it cannot be that. You handle early mornings extremely well. You love being up before the birds! Even if you were exhausted, tiredness doesn't make you grumpy or rude. It just makes you fall asleep. No, your behaviour today has nothing to do with tiredness. You say you aren't sick. So there must be something bothering you in a major way to make you act so impolitely and unpleasantly. So, what is it?"

Rafe exploded. "Didn't you hear me? I said leave me alone! The last person I want to talk to right now is you!" he hissed, taking care to keep his voice low, so he would not be heard outside their room.

Perry shrank back, hurt by his brother's harsh words. "Why? Is it me? Did I do something to hurt you?" He thought back through his interactions with his brother that day, and even yesterday, but couldn't think of anything that he might have done wrong. "Come on, Rafe," he pleaded desperately. "Tell me, help me know what I have done wrong so that I can fix it, please!"

Finally, Rafe had had enough. He got out of bed, blew out the candle, and returned to bed without saying a word.

Perry bit his lip and wordlessly slid into his bed. "Goodnight, my brother," he whispered.

Across the room, two tears silently traced their way down Rafe's face. But he didn't respond. He didn't know how.

**A/N: BLURGLE: Raphaelle Peale is a real man. He can be researched and verified!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews =) Hopefully, this chapter will start answering some of your questions.**

Mary regarded her sister. They had taken the chance to spend the morning sitting together in the drawing room while the children were entertaining themselves elsewhere. She can't be very busy if she has time to start an embroidery just for Jasper's birthday, she mused. I wish I lived the same life of luxury she does.

"How long will that take you to finish?" she asked, nodding at the colourful pattern that was forming under her sister's talented hands.

"Perry's birthday is in February," her older sister said, carefully tying a French Knot and preparing for another.

Further conversation was disrupted by Charlotte's arrival in the doorway.

"Elizabeth."

Hearing her name, Elizabeth carefully threaded her needle into the corner of her material before she looked up. "Charlotte! I trust your meeting went well."

"Yes, thank you. It went extremely well." Charlotte said. "Our church will be distributing food to the poor this Christmas as usual. We have ample promises of food and volunteers to make it work."

"I am glad," Elizabeth nodded. "What can I help you with?"

Charlotte smiled apologetically at Mary, who was inspecting some items of clothing that needed to be mended.

"I am sorry for interrupting your talk. I know the two of you have a lot to talk about, having not seen each other for so long." Charlotte Collins handed her guest a sealed envelope. "A letter has come for you, Elizabeth. I thought it must be important since you only arrived last night and it has arrived already. I hope it is not bad news."

Elizabeth took the proffered envelope and letter opener. Turning it over, she was surprised to find no address or sender's name, even though she recognised the handwriting. She inhaled involuntarily when she saw that the wax seal had been broken and then melted again into place. Looking up inquisitively, she met Charlotte's startled gaze.

"I found it like that," Charlotte insisted firmly.

Elizabeth carefully slid the letter opener under the flap of the envelope, slit it open, then pulled out a lightly scented piece of note paper and unfolded it.

"Is everything all right?" Charlotte enquired, concerned at her friend's creased forehead and pursed lips.

"I hope so," Elizabeth murmured, then she remembered where she was and lifted her head. "Yes, everything is fine," she smiled confidently at both her sister and her friend. She folded the note in half, making sure to hide the intimidation it contained from anybody else but herself. She took a deep breath and put her fears to the back of her mind, resolving to discuss it with her husband later. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, Anna. I must find her. Charlotte, you will absolutely adore the sampler she is doing! Even at ten years old, she is so much more advanced in her sewing skills than either Mary or I were at that age. Excuse me, I must go find her." Unable to keep her feelings inside her any longer, Elizabeth stood and walked quickly out of the room. Once out of sight she took another deep breath, this time willing to allow it to shake with suppressed emotion. Darcy! I must find my husband! Her mind spun with the mantra. Darcy! My husband! Darcy! My husband!

By the time she found him, she had gathered her wits about her. "Mr. Collins." She addressed her husband's companion, with whom he was deep in conversation. "I am sorry to interrupt you. I must speak to my husband urgently. It should not take long, I assure you." She spoke slowly, hoping the slight stutter was not noticeable. She did not want William Collins to be asking awkward questions right now.

"Certainly, Mrs. Darcy. This is nothing that cannot wait. We are only discussing a business venture that could garner your husband a lot of money. But it is going nowhere. No it isn't, most certainly."

"You are most kind," Fitzwilliam Darcy pacified him. "I will return as soon as possible. Elizabeth?" He held out his arm, and his wife threaded her arm through his, thankful for his support.

Darcy was silent as the couple made their way to their bedroom, where they would be assured of some privacy. Once there, he gently lowered her to the bed, and sat down beside her. "Elizabeth?" he prompted, squeezing her hand.

Elizabeth shook her head to clear it, and handed over the note. As she did so, she noted it was damp with sweat, and her thumbprint had smudged the ink. Even so, the capital letters, an obvious, though unsuccessful, ploy to disguise the identity of the writer, stood out: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. YOU WILL PAY FOR RUINING MY LIFE.

"What is this? Who sent it?" Darcy demanded. He turned the envelope over, shaking his head when he found nothing.

"Do you not recognise the penmanship?" Elizabeth enquired. Now that she was thinking clearly again, she wondered whether she had been too quick to accuse, and sought her husband's unbiased opinion.

Darcy examined the note. "It does look familiar," he admitted. He looked at it again and suddenly he clicked his fingers in triumph. "The housekeeper!" he exclaimed. "But why?"

"Why do you think?" his wife replied, meeting his eyes. In the midst of her fear and confusion, she was somewhat glad she had at least retained enough presence of mind to recognise the penmanship.

"When did you get this? How did it come?" The questions being fired at her did nothing to quell Elizabeth's fears; rather they added to the maelstrom that was her mind.

"How do you think?" Elizabeth answered sharply, rather affronted by her husband's insinuations. "It came by messenger this morning. Charlotte gave it to me just now, and I made my excuses. She and Mary believe I have gone to find Anna, so I cannot stay long. We must return before Charlotte begins to suspect something."

"Yes," Darcy agreed. "We cannot trouble our hosts with this. What should we do about it, do you think?"

"There is nothing we can do for now," Elizabeth replied promptly. "Let's just forget about it until we return home, and then we can investigate the matter further. I doubt anyone else is in danger while we are gone. It is I she is angry with."

Darcy nodded. He put the folded note back into the envelope and placed it in the bottom of their luggage truck.

At that moment, all of a sudden there was a series of loud bangs and rowdy shouts from the direction of the schoolroom. As the startled couple reached the hallway, Mr. Collins appeared at the door of the study. He, Elizabeth, and Darcy raced toward the sound, fearing for the safety of the children. I should have kept a closer eye on them, Elizabeth fretted. I hope they are not there, and we are worrying about nothing.

Darcy thrust open the door and noted Anna and Bee cowering in the far corner of the room. He surveyed the carnage his warring sons had so obviously wrought on the room.

"What happened?" He demanded. A chair had been broken, as had a table leg. Wallpaper was ripped beyond repair in several places, and toys were demolished. The floor was littered with wood splinters, shreds of paper, ripped material, and various other unrecognisable pieces of dross. What on earth had happened here? What would cause his sons to engage in such a violent struggle? He was jolted out of his reverie by the harsh sound of wood scraping on wood. He looked up to see Perry righting the upended furniture.

"It was all my fault!" His older son straightened up, desperate to take the blame from his brother and earn his friendship back. Elizabeth was distressed to see a bruise forming on his cheek, and a blood smear on his lip.

"It was not!" Rafe refuted, stamping his foot in anger. Seemingly uninjured, he glared at his adversary. "Stop lying!"

"I'm not! I started it!" Perry cried. He was appalled when his brother turned to him with a face full of rage and contempt. On instinct, Anna and Bee stepped back to get even further away from the argument.

"I don't need you to stick up for me, you worthless guttersnake. You're not my brother, so just leave me alone!" Rafe yelled at Perry, advancing on the older boy with balled fists.

On hearing the insult, Darcy quickly grabbed the younger boy by the collar. "What did you just say?" Darcy asked in disbelief. "Where did you hear such rude language? Do I have to forbid you from associating with our servants? Apologise to your brother immediately!" he ordered.

Rafe wriggled furiously in his grasp, eager to get his hands on his foe, and answered contemptuously. ""I am not sorry. I will not apologise. He is not my brother. He never was, and never will be."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites. I enjoy reading your opinions on the things my characters say and do. Keep them coming, they definitely fuel my creative fire!**

Letting go of Rafe and motioning for him to stay where he was, Mr. Darcy took his host aside and whispered, "Please ensure my daughters are made comfortable until their mother or I come for them."

"Certainly, most certainly," Mr. Collins agreed. Darcy knew he hadn't heard the last of the subject from the husband of his wife's best friend. He turned to his eldest daughter. "Anna, please take Bee and go with Mr. Collins to find Aunt Mary." He smiled gently at the frightened girl, who responded immediately.  
>"Yes, Papa." Anna quickly took her younger sister's hand and pulled her away, ignoring Bee's insistent questions.<p>

Once the quartet were alone, Darcy addressed Rafe. "I do not care how angry you are, that is an extremely harsh assertion to make, Rafe, and I would be very careful in what you say. Anger is never a valid reason for dishonesty."  
>Rafe snorted. "Neither is pride. You're too proud to admit you made a mistake taking him in as your ward, so you call him your first-born son instead of me. He is not my brother, and I can prove it. I did not and will not lie so do not talk to me about dishonesty, you hypocrite! "<br>"That's enough!" Darcy cautioned curtly. "Watch your tongue, young man! You've said you have proof that Jasper isn't who we claim he is. What proof is that?" He tried hard to keep his voice calm, but it still seemed to him to be quivering more than a plucked violin string.

"Would you like me to get it for you?" his younger son offered meekly, clearly shocked by his temerity.

"Yes, please." Darcy let him go, and he and his wife watched their youngest boy disappear, wondering what he was going to reappear with. Elizabeth fervently hoped it wasn't the blackmail note, but something else that could be easily explained away.

"Perry?" No answer. "Perry, let me see if your face is badly hurt, please, son?" Darcy pleaded.

"So he is lying?" Perry questioned. "Mama did give birth to me?"

For the first time in his life, Fitzwilliam found himself seriously considering obfuscating. He wouldn't outright lie, that would always be wrong. But, surely, in this instance, where telling the truth would only cause his children great tension, and possibly break apart his family altogether, he could be forgiven for one wee tiny little bit of obscurity?

Unfortunately, Jasper was extremely perceptive, and took the man's silence for exactly what it was – an admission of the truth. He took a deep, calming breath and ordered his abruptly shaky legs to cease their precarious quivering. You can do this, he encouraged himself. You just need to get this mess tidied up and then you can leave. Just keep breathing and moving. Do not cry. Do not vomit. Just finish the job and get out of here. His movements were automatic as he mutely gathered up the rubbish he and Rafe had made.

"Perry?" This time Elizabeth spoke, but Perry was saved from answering by Rafe's return, preceded by the tell-tale stench of semi-digested food. His clean shirt was another sign of the physical strain Rafe's days of mental distress had taken on him.

Darcy stood up and put his hands on his younger son's shaking shoulders. He noted the pale complexion and the shallow breathing. Yes, his son had a scolding, even punishment due. But first he had to calm the situation down, and see what evidence had his boy so wound up. "Rafe, look at me. That's good. Now, take a deep breath, No, deeper." He placed a gently curled hand on his son's stomach, "From here. That's much better. Go again. Good." As Rafe settled down, Darcy dried his son's tears, exhaled slowly, and asked to see the envelope he could see clutched in his boy's hand. Rafe silently handed it over.

Darcy stared at the yellowed envelope. "Where did you get this?"

Rafe drew in a deep breath. "It was in a trunk in the shed were Cook's husband and I laid the feathers out for drying."

Elizabeth and Darcy shared a startled look as they simultaneously realised the importance of that statement. That explains how we never found it, Darcy thought wryly. We never go out to the servant's quarters. But how did we not know it was written? If it was indeed written by _her_. "What is in it?" he questioned gently.

Rafe's lip curled snidely. "As if you don't know. Or maybe Mama kept it from you, too. I don't know. But I do know that he is not my brother. I will apologise for hitting him in the face, but he has got to apologise to me for his existence in this family. He has got to apologise for taking my name and my inheritance."

At those words, Darcy and Elizabeth, having momentarily forgotten their older son was also in the room, were startled by a thump behind them. "Perry, are you alright?" Darcy tried once again to bring his son into the conversation.

"May I go now?" Perry requested stiffly, picking up the broken piece of wood he had dropped when he heard his brother's contemptuous remarks.

Darcy sighed. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he and Elizabeth could find a way to get through to him after they had all calmed down a bit. "Yes, you can," he assented. "But please don't go far. We'll need to speak to you later." But he was speaking to thin air. The moment he had heard the word 'yes' Perry had scarpered with a heaving armload of rubbish from the broken furniture and ruined walls.

Darcy pointed to an undamaged chair. "Rafe, please sit there while I talk to your mother."

"Yes, Papa." Rafe sat down heavily. His mind was whirling faster than a whirling dervish, and his stomach was churning even faster as anger warred with guilt in his heart. Anger over all the privileges he had missed out on believing he was the younger son warred with guilt over the heartache he was causing his family.

Darcy led his wife to the far corner of the schoolroom and sat her down on a sofa. "I think you should read it first. After all, she is . . ."

"Yes, I know," Elizabeth interrupted him sharply. With that, Darcy handed her the unopened envelope and took a step back, ready in equal parts to give his wife either comfort or privacy, whichever she would need.

_Pemberley, February, 1815_

_My Dearest Jasper,_

_My heart is slowly but surely breaking into a million pieces as I write this letter. I have had almost half a year to harden my heart and freeze my emotions against this day; yet, as the sun steals over the horizon, my heart is as soft as the downy black hair on your newly born head, and my emotions as liquid as the water your Mother bathed your naked body in before allowing me to see the child I bore to them that day, only three days ago. I say "only" and yet it already seems a lifetime ago. A lifetime of knowing I will never see your first steps, hear you call me 'Mama', comfort you with assurances of my undying love for you when you are hurt. A lifetime already gone, and, God willing, ten thousand yet to come. _

_Ten thousand lifetimes for you to achieve the greatness within you. Ten thousand lifetimes in which I will forever lament the unwise choice that has led me to this day. That choice was alienating myself from my family and blindly following one man who promised the earth, the sun, the stars, and the sky, and everything in them. Never, ever, follow any person who offers you the world, darling boy. This promise can never be fulfilled, and can only lead to heartache and misery._

_Do not mistake my words, my husband is a good man. Do not be told different. He provides for all my physical needs and allows me an active social life. He is a fine husband, but I realised very early in our marriage he would not make a suitable father, not in our current home. The North is no place to raise the child of a gentleman. Law-abiding servants are scarce, educated tutors rare, etiquette unheard of, and women of_ _genteel character quickly move on to more civilised towns. _

_Possibly if we were living close to your family things would be different, and I would be taking you home with me today. Alas! The past cannot be altered. Take care to live a life of no regrets, Jasper. Your mother and father will teach you well in this regard. I have specially chosen them to raise you, as I know they are respectable and honourable people. Follow their example all of your days, and above all else, be happy._

_With eternal love and best wishes for your future,_

_Your Aunt,_

The signature was smudged and illegible, but Elizabeth knew instinctively who had written it. "Have you read it?" she whispered brokenly to her husband. Upon receiving a negative answer, she handed the paper over and waited in silence until he spoke.

"This is a joke, right?" Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. He'd never experienced what true fear was like until now, but even that phrase couldn't adequately describe what was before his very eyes - the destruction of his family.

"No, it is not." Elizabeth confirmed his nightmare. "This is definitely Lydia's penmanship."

Darcy's groan seemed to empty out all his insides – his stomach, his lungs and all the way down to the very bowels of his being. "How could we have missed this?"

There was no answer; Elizabeth was too preoccupied with staring at the missive in her hand. Poor Lydia! She had been so indomitably stoic, Elizabeth had had no idea that her sister was waging such an intense battle while she was staying with them for those short months so many years ago.

Darcy's deep voice angrily interrupted her thoughts. "Is this your sister's idea of revenge? Leaving this letter for Perry to find and despise us forever? If she was so set against doing it, why did she even come to us for help?"

Again, Elizabeth had no answers. But she knew she had to start giving her children some. "Rafe, come here, please," she called.

Rafe slowly got up and shuffled over to his parents, all the while staring at the ground. When he neared them he was astounded when they pulled him into a three-way hug. When they felt their son relax, Elizabeth and Darcy stepped back.

"Sit down," Darcy directed. Rafe obeyed quietly, and Darcy and Elizabeth sat on either side of him, facing him on the long sofa. "Your mother and I have both read the letter you gave me. I assure you, neither of us had ever seen it before." Rafe's eyes widened. Darcy inhaled deeply to rein in his anger before he continued. "Our first question is: Why didn't you come to us as soon as you found it?"

Why didn't you tell us as soon as we were old enough? Rafe thought bitterly. But what came out of his mouth was, "I didn't want to ruin our holiday. And, before you ask, I brought it with me so it wouldn't be found and gossiped about by a servant. They snoop, you know." Elizabeth thought about the note she had received. Yes, she agreed, they do snoop. "I am angry and confused, but I am not vindictive!" Rafe insisted.

Darcy squeezed his son's knee. "We know you aren't vindictive," he assured Rafe. "As for bring angry and confused, we absolutely understand that. We just think you might be a little bit less so if you had come to us sooner, that's all."

Rafe shook his head. "If I had, what would you have told me? The truth? What would you have told him? Anything? Or would you have sworn me to secrecy? I couldn't see, still cannot see, any way that this could come out and not wreck our family." A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks and he swiped at them furiously.

"Did you not think that coming to us, and the three of us working together to formulate a plan to tell Perry, would have been less destructive than yelling it at him during a fight?" Darcy asked.

Rafe stood up and whirled around to face his parents with clenched fists. "Don't you think that telling us as soon as we could understand would have been the least destructive way of all?" he hissed.

"No," asserted Darcy. "We never thought that it would destroy our family, at all. That's because Perry became a part of our family the minute he was born. It didn't matter to us that he wasn't of our blood. It only mattered that he was our son. At the moment he was born, he made our family, and there was no thought of him destroying it."

"He made your family?" Rafe exclaimed. "What about the rest of us?"

Elizabeth caught Rafe's hand in hers and pulled him back down to sit beside her. "Rafe, look at me. We didn't know that that you and your sisters were going to be born, just as we don't if we are going to have any more children. So we couldn't consider you in our decisions of fifteen years ago, any more than you can consider your future children in the decisions you make today."

More tears ran down Rafe's cheeks as he considered his mother's words and looked down in shame. Then he felt himself cradled under his father's chin, and Darcy's arms wound around him and grasped Elizabeth's.

"You and your sisters are just as precious to us as Perry is. You are just as important, just as loved as he is," he whispered. "Nothing and nobody will ever change that. Ever."

Rafe finally relaxed in the comfort of his father's arms.

"Better now?" Darcy asked.

"Yes, Papa," Rafe assured him.

"Good." Darcy gently turned his son to face him. "Now, I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say, and answer me honestly. You want Perry to apologise for a decision made before he was born by an adult he has never even met. Considering what your mother just said, is that even logical?"

"No, Papa," Rafe admitted.

"So he doesn't have to apologise for that?" Rafe nodded in agreement. "We will discuss the fight and the damage later," Darcy decreed. "For now, you can continue cleaning up the mess here, while Mama and I go and find your brother."

"Yes, Papa," Rafe went to stand up when his parents pulled him back into another hug. This time he returned it with some of his usual enthusiasm.

**A/N: This is probably the last chance I will get to post before Christmas, so:**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY READERS! Have a wonderful holiday and a happy and prosperous New Year =) Cheers, Rhino x**


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